


A Love Requited

by thezestycadenski



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thezestycadenski/pseuds/thezestycadenski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a commission for one of my best friends, who is very much so into The Hobbit. Have some Thorinduil for you all to indulge in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The White City Of Gondor

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm going there. Happy Thorinduil for you all.  
> I thought I'd post this commission (yes, it is a commission) as it will give you an insight into how I write. (And will hopefully maybe make you want to get a commission too?)  
> Plus I'm finally writing something other than Game Grumps fics (speaking of which I need to finish about 2 series there)  
> But unfortunately, money presides over my fandom at the moment, simply because this was A LONG time in the works, and I really needed to get it out as quickly, yet as well-written as possible. And my own money is very nice to have tyvm.
> 
> To anyone that is interested my commissions page/price range is here; http://rashasher.tumblr.com/  
> And the proper commissions email is; eaglelumpscommissionwork@gmail.com

_In the White City of Gondor there were two of different race who were allied against the Great Enemy, though they themselves were at each other’s throats more often than the Orcs they fought together. It was only a matter of time before they would snap and all hell would be unleashed as the war between the Dwarves and the Elves would undoubtedly arise._

There was heavy silence filled with tension. They faced each other while Aragorn looked on sternly, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Now, again,” He barked. “I can’t have two of my best fighters trying to murder each other. Your kingly status will cause a war.” He said bitterly, gesturing. The Elf King inclined his head.

“Thorin, King Under The Mountain.”

The Dwarf King growled, his hands bunching into fists.

“Pride will be your downfall, Thorin!” Aragorn said. “Overcome it!”

Thorin’s shoulders hunched instinctively and he let out a harsh laugh, eyes blazing with anger.

“Thranduil.” He spat out, turning his head in disgust as the harsh winds whipped his thick curled locks. “King... of…” He faltered, his eyes narrowing, glancing sidelong at the Elf.

“I will NOT submit myself to this traitor!” He yelled suddenly, striding forward and hitting his iron chestplate with a clang. “You have NO honour! Blackheart!” He bellowed.

Despite the difference they had in stature, their strength was almost matched, though Dwarven strength came from the use of muscles while Elven strength came from fine point knowledge of anatomy thus allowing them to use their minds to dictate where they put their strength. Thranduil easily blocked Thorin’s swing, stepping backwards with a gleeful snarl. “Do not talk to me about traitors, Dwarf! You forget that your grandfather betrayed the word of the Elves and defied my counsel!” He cried in response, deftly grabbing the Dwarf’s arm and legs and lifting him up. “ENOUGH.” Aragon snarled. “You both must get your emotions under control! I WILL NOT have you both murdering each other in your beds. Now, begone! I have no wish to deal with the grumbling of two childish stubborn _fools_ anymore!”

They both took their leave but as Thranduil made to go to the Elven section of the city, he paused in the doorway, not hearing any receding footsteps. “Thorin,” His voice was harsh but the undertone rang of regret. Thorin turned to face him, eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?” The Elf walked over to him, placing one slim, fair hand on his shoulder and bending down so they were at face level. “Do not think this can last forever. One day one of us will die by the other’s hand, and it shall not be me.” With that threat out of the way Thranduil took his leave, reminding Thorin to send word to Kili and Fili about the situation. On his way back to his chambers he bumped into Gandalf who had his ever-present pipe out and was blowing smoke-rings.

“Ah, Thorin. It’s good to see you again. Did you fix your troubles with Thranduil?” Thorin scoffed, rolling his shoulders, wincing at the tight feeling in the muscles . “We fought again,” He murmured, digging into a pocket of his furs. “Meaning that you lost your temper and he bested you again,” Gandalf sighed, tamping his pipe down with another pile of tobacco. Thorin pulled out a scrap of paper. “Mind sending this to Kili and Fili for me?” Gandalf quirked his bushy eyebrows but said nothing, taking the paper and hiding it in one of the folds of his robe.

“It is imperative that you solve your problem with the Elf King, Thorin. I do not want have to intervene because of your pride.” His gaze was sharp and he blew another smoke-ring. Thorin exhaled sharply,  scuffing his hide boot in the smooth stone. “Pride,” He spat out. “You think everything comes down to pride. You’re wrong.” He paced up and down in front of the old wizard. “It’s deeper than that!” He said vehemently.

Gandalf stood, eclipsing Thorin with his sheer aura of power. “Then what is it, Thorin? Please enlighten me to your situation, you prideful _fool_.” Thorin scowled. He couldn’t be mad about it, really. He’d always let his mouth run before his mind told him it was a bad idea. “You don’t understand, Wizard. You couldn’t understand.” Gandalf laughed derisively, lighting his pipe and tapping it against the stone work. “I am far older than I look. I was here when this was carved out of the cliffs, youngling. I have been the advisor to kings through the eons. They are a prideful, self-absorbed species. Do not speak to me of having no knowledge of the minds of Kings, Thorin Oakenshield. You may get a shock.”

His crystalline blue eyes twinkled and he scratched his beard, regarding the dwarf with a raised eyebrow. “I advise you, King Under The Mountain, to resolve your tiff with the Elf King before it is too late and the War of Kings is upon us.” Thorin bowed his head in defeat. Why try to fight the tide of people who thought they knew what was best? It was a futile endeavour.

“Alright, Gandalf. I will put aside my heritage and the pride of my race so you can rest easy in your bed.” He said crisply. He gave the old man one final bow before striding away. He came to his chambers and slammed the door shut, sealing it with the magic word before letting out a sigh. It was his turn to lash out, to ruin the pride of the Elf King. He shifted uneasily before pulling his dagger out, flipping it in his hand. Once. Twice. Then hurling his dagger at the stone wall. It bounced off the rock with hardly a sound and came to rest at the foot of his bed. Thorin was surprised. It appeared that the stonework of Man was as strong as the smithwork of Dwarves.

That was something, at least.

As he flung off his furs and climbed into the far-too-big-and-soft bed he made up his mind to speak to the Elf King soon. After a few hours of restless tossing and turning he sat up, pulled on his furs. He was going to see him that night, even if they still hadn’t let their animosity towards one another cease.

It was dark in the White City as Thorin wandered through the winding corridors and back alleys, torch in hand. It was just after the middle of the night, in fact. Vapour curled off the walls that emitted a biting chill as the human servants went about their business quietly. He was resolved to speak to the Elf King. Alone. Eventually he found the Elf’s quarters and knocked on the door, steeling himself mentally so he wouldn’t feel compelled to lash out at the Elf on sight. The door swung open soundlessly. _Elves…_ He thought silently, glaring at the door distrustfully. Anything that involved magic for menial purposes was not to be trusted. Everyone knew it was not as simple as that. Magic took a bigger toll than it gave and Elves practiced it in secret, so as not to alert the Ishtari to their misuse of the great powers.

He cocked his head as a faint sound lured him out of his thoughts. No one had come to the door, not even a servant, so he chose to investigate further. He slipped inside the door, pausing to blow out his torch. Darkness filled his vision and he waited a few moments before his eyes adjusted. Looking around the room, he was struck by its splendour. There was a wardrobe the size of the wall opposite him and the bed was the same size as his, though draped in magnificent silks rather than the furs he had as covers while the room had somehow been transformed to look exactly the same as the carved tree halls of Mirkwood.

“Thranduil?” He murmured softly. No response. He edged further into the room, keeping his back to the wall but hesitating as he heard the sound again. It was a whisper of a sound, just on the edge of hearing, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing. Thorin strained his ears for awhile but all he could hear was silence. He made his way around the outer edges of the room, stopping by an open doorway that lead out onto a balcony. Dwarves had never been inclined towards heights so he’d been roomed on the basement level, with the servants. Not that he minded. The earth was a lure to him, just as he knew the stars were to the Elves.

He felt a twang in his chest as the noise rang again, much clearer than before. It was the sound of sobbing. He peered around the corner and felt the breath knocked out of his lungs. It was Thranduil, gazing up at the stars while bright tears, like starlight, fell from his cheeks. It was a strange sight to behold. The Elf had still retained his pale colour and his face was seemingly set in stone rather than contorting into a grimace that usually rendered Man and Dwarf terrible to behold. But no, Thranduil looked even more unearthly than he usually did. Almost beautiful. Thorin shook his head at the thought. He was overcome with a strange feeling, thoughts hummed in his head that he didn’t want to think, thoughts that were unlike himself. This was not normal and he was struck with a sudden urge to leave, to leave this madness behind where Elves cried and it was beautiful.

But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Or, perhaps, he didn’t want to.

“Oh, Elerrian. How could you leave me so? To deal with the lives of Men and Dwarves while you need not know the dragon’s dread no more, and I?” He sighed wistfully, letting more tears drip from his long eyelashes. “I must journey on, for you and us both.” He brushed a single slim finger along his cheek, the glamour fading away to reveal burnt flesh, scarred and mangled and his left eye milky white.  

Thorin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, chewing his lip. Thranduil hadn’t noticed him yet and this was a musing not meant for others ears. Even though he hated Thranduil with a passion his softer side admonished him for thinking about leaving this poor Elf to his sorrow.

Thorin clenched his teeth. “Thranduil, the Elven King.” He spoke softly and bowed grudgingly, finally using the proper etiquette as the Elf turned, his cheeks glistening with diamond bright tears and the glamour taking effect, rendering his face whole and beautiful again.

“Thorin,” He bowed with far more elegance and goodwill than Thorin knew he would ordinarily bear towards Dwarves. “King Under The Mountain,” Despite his tear-stained cheeks his voice did not quiver and held such a tone that Thorin was sure he’d had training. “Why do you linger in the shadows, Dwarfling?”

Thranduil swept his arm up into the sky. “ Are you frightened of what you can not touch?” He motioned towards the bright sparks of white light. “Or are you surprised that we Elves have emotions?” Thranduil’s voice carried a intuitiveness that irked Thorin.

“I wanted to speak with you. Alone.”

At this Thranduil smiled slowly, finally wiping the tears from his face. “And what would this be about?”

“I want a truce,”

“Well, if you would keep me company this night. Help ease my sorrowful heart. Then I would consider a truce between us a possibility.”

It was always deals with Elves. This was no in-between.

“What must I do?” Thorin said reluctantly. Thranduil turned away, leaning on the railing of the balcony. “Keep me company, Dwarf. Was I not clear?”

Thorin joined him, resting his back against the railing. He only came up to the Elf’s waist. Thranduil sat down, elegantly crossing his legs beneath his robe and regarding Thorin with a solemn expression. “Tell me, Thorin. Do you believe it is right to mourn a loved one’s death a century after they have passed?” Thorin tilted his head, meeting the Elf’s gaze and noting the shimmer of tears on his lower lid. “Well, I believe it is right to mourn for them when it is the right time. Say, on the anniversary of their death…” He said slowly, concerned at the way the tears danced as Thranduil blinked, expecting at any moment for them to fall and meet their death on the silk cloth of the Elf’s robes. Thranduil nodded, his jaw clenching, obviously trying to control his emotions.

Thorin felt a wave of strangeness overcome him again as he watched the King’s jaw muscles tense and relax. He found it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the fact that the Elf’s presence was accosting his senses. The Elf’s voice washed over him, drowning his mind in it’s sweet soothing melody. Thorin wanted to move, to stop this sickness in his head, to run and never look back. But he couldn’t. He was stuck, noticing every inch of a person he hated, feeling the heat build in his body. It was inexplicable.

But Thorin wasn’t so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when Thranduil was looking at him expectantly. He opened his mouth only to close it again, thoughtlessly running his gaze over the other’s features.

His eyes were of the clearest blue sapphire, sharp and cutting but capable of immense beauty. Thorin was lost in them, his senses were overwhelmed. For a single moment he felt his brain switch off and admit Thranduil’s beauty. Before he could even revoke the thought, he was reaching up, cupping the Elf’s cheeks in his hands. His skin felt smooth, unblemished. His lips were cherry red, and Thorin drew Thranduil’s face closer, unable to stop himself. It was like he was no longer inhabiting his body and could only watch as their lips pressed together. He took in the feeling of Thranduil’s lips subconsciously. Soft, supple, tender. He tasted like fresh berries and smelled like clean earth after a downpour. Thranduil pulled away abruptly and stood, an appalled look on his face. But Thorin didn’t pretend not to see the flames on his cheeks and the wondering look in his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this, Thorin?!” He exclaimed, backing away, clinging onto the wall as if the Dwarf was a monster. Thorin snapped to his senses, realising what he’d done. “Vala Aulë…I’m - I’m so sorry!” His hand clasped to his mouth in shock, the feeling of the Elf’s lips was still imprinted there. He turned swiftly, hand still covering his mouth, and ran out as fast as he could.  

~~

There were many tense days between the two of them after that night. Two sets of eyes met across the dining hall and flitted away the second there was contact. Thorin had a sick feeling in his stomach every time he caught sight of the slender, fair haired Elf and Thranduil wanted to rip himself apart whenever he saw the hardy body and thickly curled head of hair belonging to Thorin, turned in his direction. It was uptight, awkward and strained when they needed to meet. They avoided each other’s gaze for the most part, though when one’s gaze was averted the other’s stare would linger on him, and they would be the first out of the room. Each going in separate directions.

Thorin was walking through the dining hall on his way to the pools. The spring streams that overflowed when the ice off the cliffs melted would make it’s way into the city’s dams. They controlled the flow so that the little gutters on the roads filled with crystal clear water and could be found leading to pools dotted around the city for bathing or to swim. Thorin never swam even though he knew how to. He needed to bathe. He shifted the rucksack on his back absentmindedly, an introspective look on his face. He was dwelling on the night on the balcony - as he was wont to do at all times when not asleep. He would admonish himself, wonder what had made him do it, become angry and confused about how he felt in that one moment before reality had crowded in and shattered his belief in himself.

It was a mess in his head and his mental turmoil was reflected by his appearance. Dark circles crowded his eyes, his cheekbones hollow and face pale. His furs were in disarray and he reeked of nights spent up until the servants bustling started in the small hours of the morning. Thorin was mumbling to himself as he walked, taking note of one of the gutters a few feet away. He walked beside it, not looking up. Only, it was too late to look up when he crashed into someone and realised, with a knot of dread, that the person was wearing a forest green silk robe, had slim fingers digging into his shoulders as he tilted backwards, holding him in place. He was at an angle when Thranduil’s face came into view and he was blinking slowly, something unreadable in his eyes.

“You should watch where you place your feet, Thorin Oakenshield.” He said softly, righting the Dwarf and stepping away slightly, his hand not moving from the Dwarf’s shoulder. “You really don’t want to step in the wrong place.” A light squeeze of his hand, almost like a convulsion, barely there but still noticeable.

Thorin’s ears rang and the blood pounded through his body. He thought he’d comprehended it correctly, that it was just a message of learning not to be clumsy, to look up and walk right. But there was a part of him that dug deeper into the meaning of it.

It must have meant something more than that.

His heart was pounding. Going a little too fast for his liking. So fast that his vision was swimming, his thoughts were on edge, his breathing became a little harsh around the edges.Thranduil was still standing there, staring at him, a weird expression on his face. Thorin didn’t register it at the time but unconsciously he picked up on it. It was an expression he was wearing too, something between nerves, curiosity and confusion that could so easily turn into fear. He reached up to press his fingers to his neck instinctively, feeling for a pulse, trying to figure out if he was really going insane or if he was just imagining it. But there it was again. The moment between them, the single second of complete connection as their eyes met. That spark of fire that gave Thorin a queasy feeling and an acidic taste in the back of his throat.

“Are you alright?” There was an edge to Thranduil’s voice that Thorin only just noticed.

“Aye,” He almost barked out the word, trying hard to fight the instinct to run, but Thranduil’s hand was still on his shoulder and his voice dropped so low that Thorin had to lean forward to catch it. “I mean, will you be alright? I-” Thranduil looked away, eyebrows furrowed, seemingly thinking about what he was going to say next. “I... Nothing.” He said after a moment, his gaze returning to Thorin’s face like a ray of white hot heat. Thorin couldn’t speak.  Couldn’t move while Thranduil’s gaze was on him. And the silence that was hanging in the air was so drawn out that Thorin felt his nerves endings fray. There was an awareness in him that something was just… Off.

He shifted uncomfortably, twisting his shoulder out of Thranduil’s grip, not looking into his eyes, opening his mouth to reply before remembered, no he wasn’t alright. He shut his mouth and turned around, ignoring Thranduil’s calls after him as he stalked away, going in the opposite direction and making his way to another pool.

~~

Thorin was the first to admit it. It was easier for him to admit it to himself. Possibly because he was the one that initiated it, possibly because he didn’t differentiate between genders or possibly because, in truth, he didn’t know how he felt and the only feeling that was in any way prominent was a quivering, tenuous ball of heat in his stomach. One that was only ever present around Thranduil.

Thorin was in the pool, surrounded by humans, only his eyes and nose visible above the water. He was mulling over the day, allowing the heat from the water to seep into his skin, relaxing his muscles and reducing the tight feeling in his chest. He closed his eyes, letting the water close over his head as he submerged himself. The water was clear so he opened his eyes, noticing when the water was disturbed by another body, clad only in the smallest amount of the clothing he’d ever seen on anyone. The guards of the pools issued specific garb to people but Thorin recognised that tight-fitting piece of fabric with a rush of adrenaline. He burst out of the water, hair flipping back, eyes wide open. It was Thranduil, again. He was accompanied by other Elves though. He didn’t come over, didn’t even notice the Dwarf - he just waded to the other side of the pool with his group, a concentrated look on his face.

That was when Thorin knew. It wasn’t a big revelation in his head, he didn’t cry or scream. It washed over him like a tidal wave, pushing him towards the final resolution of his feelings. He didn’t fight it, just calmly accepted it with a faint smile. Absentmindedly noticing the way the Elf’s hair simply glowed in the sunlight, the way his straight proud nose cast shadows on his highly-sculpted cheeks, the burning intensity of his sharp eyes.

Thorin closed one eye and focused in on Thranduil’s left cheek till his eyes were watering from the pressure. He was so fixed on that one point that he hardly noticed the change. The gradual receding of pale, whole skin, giving way to charred flesh and puckered scars. His eye filmed over and then… There. In Thorin’s eyes. His face. As it should be. Hauntingly, terrifyingly beautiful. Marred by dragon’s fire but still seeming as whole and perfect as the rest of him. Thorin’s smile widened, letting his vision snap back to normal. That was it then, there was no questioning of it, no hesitation. He was as beautiful scarred as he was whole. It made Thorin’s whole body tingle, made his cheeks hurt from smiling. He knew what it meant.

It didn’t occur to him for a second that it might be ‘wrong’ to love an Elf. It didn’t even occur to him that Thranduil might feel the same way.

~~

Thranduil felt his hand twitch underwater as his cheek prickled. Someone was staring at him. He gazed around calmly enough but in his head he was screaming, desperate to find who was trying to break his glamour. He spotted Thorin, staring at him avidly, one eye shut. Thranduil sighed, his brow wrinkling. He wouldn’t fight it, then. The Dwarf had upset the balance in his life. Set him in a place where uncertainty ruled. Thranduil didn’t like being uncertain. It disturbed his sense of reality. So, he turned his gaze off the perplexing Dwarf. It didn’t last long, though. Soon his gaze was back on Thorin, taking in his slick hair and tanned skin. He looked rough, hardy. Masculine. So different from the Elves he was used to seeing. He wasn’t graceful, nor silent. He blundered through life but there was a certain way he carried himself, with all the ignorant pride of the Humans that gave Thranduil a chill. Thranduil tilted his head slightly, sharpening his gaze so that he could see every ray of light that glinted off the Dwarf’s skin. He was beautiful, in a rugged way.

Thranduil couldn't help it. He looked away again, started trying to connect the dots in his head. When he made the conscious decision to play along with this strange game a little more rather than letting his panicked instincts guide him whenever he saw the Dwarf, it was almost a relief.

The issue was that there was no conscious decision though... There was no day when he woke up and thought 'Now, is the time to start appreciating this one infuriating Dwarf and his impact on my life.’ It was more like getting into this pool, knowing full well that Thorin was also there... His feet dry one day, then wet up to his ankles the next, then his knees, then his waist…

Suddenly, he felt in over his head. Trying not to drown, clawing at the surface of the water, screaming for help, water filling his lungs and the only person who could save him was ten feet away, smiling to himself.

~~

Today was the day, Thorin decided. It was brilliantly bright, while the blue skies remained unaltered. He was going to tell Thranduil. It had been over a fortnight since their last encounter and Thorin’s revelation, making it a big secret that turned him into a smiling lunatic whenever he thought of it. He still hadn’t given thought to the consequences, hadn’t considered Thranduil’s opinion on it. He didn’t care. All he knew was that he loved the Elf King and he needed to tell him with a burning urgency that made him fidget and unable to sleep.

He strode purposefully towards the door, pulling his furs on before opening the door and getting stopped in his tracks. He felt his heart skip a beat as piercing blue eyes looked down at him, as unreadable as usual.  
“May I come in, Thorin?” Thranduil had a nervous air about him, his hands clasped in front of him, the knuckles white. Thorin stepped aside, quiet as his thoughts raced. Thranduil lingered in the doorway and with a single motion, destroyed everything Thorin thought he knew about Elves. He ran his hand through his loose hair, causing the bright white waves to shimmer and shift, letting out a shaky breath. Thorin raised his eyebrow. Elves were notorious for their calm composure and cold, almost calculated, nature. They didn’t get nervous, or if they did, they didn’t show it and the King of the Elves sure as Hell didn’t make any of his emotions known. So what was changed?

Thranduil took a single step inside as Thorin watched him closely, he was looking down at his newly clasped hands, seeming to find resolve from the distraction. “Thorin?” He asked quietly, his eyes raising and pinning the Dwarf in place. There was a fire in his eyes that the Dwarf had never seen before. It burned with such intensity that Thorin felt his legs tremble from the sheer power.

“We have to talk,” The commanding tone in the Elf’s voice made Thorin smile weakly.

“About?”

“This.” It’s a hiss, and with a snap the Elf sealed the door closed, barring anyone from entering… And Thorin from leaving.

“What this are you implying, Thranduil?”

Thranduil laughed, the sound clear as a bell and Thorin swore he heard the tinkle of crystals on the Elf’s voice. Even though it was as beautiful as any gem, it was bitter.

“What hex have you cast upon me?”

Thorin’s eyebrows creased. “Hex?”

“Yes! Hex!”

Thorin chuckled hesitantly, wondering if the Elf King was really as intelligent as he made himself out to be. “Dwarves don’t take part in magic,” He said slowly, noticing the way the Elf’s hands clenched as he spoke.

“You must have!” The Elf was trembling all over now, the colour drained from his face. He looked as if he was going to fall unconscious at any second. “There is no other explanation!”

Thorin tilted his head, motioning towards the edge of his bed. The Elf sat down hurriedly. “We do not partake in the doings of the Ishtari, Elf.” Thorin’s deep timbre resonated through the room. “What is vexing you?”

Thranduil looked at him, his gaze sharp before letting out a harsh sigh, like his breath was shooting out of his lungs all at once before he chose to speak. “It is easy for you, is it not? To love whomever you think is right to be loved.” Thorin nodded silently. “You think I only care for my own race, that I am self-absorbed? I have studied all the races across the Middle-Earth, I know of your race, the culture steeped with religion. I know that you see no difference in loving man… woman... or Elf.”

Thorin was nodding in agreement, trying to stop himself from reaching up to run his fingers through the Elf’s hair, it was just too mesmerising. He could also feel the distress coming off the Elf in waves that engulfed him, Thorin wanted to hold his head to his chest and hum all of the sadness away. “That is… correct,” He said after a while, noticing that he too was struggling with delivering his words so that they flowed. The conversation was stilted, skirting around the real topic they needed to talk through. Thorin decided to break through it with his confession, still not aware of the Elf’s feelings towards him.

“I must tell you something, Thranduil.” He held the Elf’s hand in his own, wondering how terrible his rough calloused hands felt against the soft smooth skin of an Elf. His surprise reigned though, because Thranduil hadn’t pulled his hand away, hadn’t looked at him in disgust. In fact, he wasn’t looking at him at all, head lowered, hair veiling his face. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking and Thorin took his chance, realising Thranduil’s grip on his hand was almost unbearably tight.

“Thranduil,” Thorin began, trying to wade through his thoughts, trying to find the right words so as not to scare him. “Now,” He sighed, forehead creasing as his eyebrows furrowed. “You mustn't… take offense…” He trailed off before feeling his hand clutching instinctively tighter around Thranduil’s even though he still hadn’t pulled away. “What is this?” Thranduil’s voice sounded strained, and his slender pale thumb stroked along Thorin’s roughly skinned knuckles, aimlessly tracing along the hollows between his joints and up, over the thick ridge of his cartilage towards his little finger and back again.

They both seemed to find comfort in the motion.

“Thranduil…” Thorin’s will hardened into certainty. “Over the past few days, since that night on the balcony in truth, I have come to a realisation.” He spoke slowly, his thoughts aligning themselves with barely any effort, ready for him to say them out loud. “I think… No… I know, that certain feelings have arisen. That compromise our long-standing feud… Our... enemyship.”

Thranduil cocked his head, an eyebrow raised, eyes glinting brightly through the veil of hair. “What do you mean?”

Thorin’s stomach tightened and he leaned forward, seeing realisation spark in Thranduil’s eyes.

“Ah,”

The sigh was soft, almost unhearable.

“I…”

A pause. Thranduil hung his head, disentangling his fingers from Thorin’s and resting his hands on his cheeks. He looked like a little boy.

“I think… I understand your intention, Thorin…”

His hesitation barely registered with Thorin as he realised what these words meant.

“You do?” He asked quickly, his hands clenching, his expression shifting to something urgent, inexplicably intense.

Thranduil nodded slowly. The air was filled with hesitance, as if one wrong thing said would break this thin glass revelation between them and all out war would start as a result. But Thorin was filled with a heady rush of exhilaration and threw all caution to the wind, resting his hand on Thranduil’s cheek.

“Let me test this,” Thorin said quietly, his hand not moving, voice low and hushed as if someone could listen in.

Thranduil stared at him silently, his head tilted to one side. “What will you do?” His voice, too, was hushed, expectant.

Thorin leaned forward further, blinking slowly, his body tense with nervousness. Thranduil began to tremble, Thorin could feel the tremors through his hand.

He guided the Elf’s head forward so they could meet halfway, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips nervously before they met. It was a chaste kiss, lips barely touching but Thorin’s body sparked at the touch, his hand becoming ever so slightly rougher against Thranduil’s cheek. Thranduil wasn’t pulling away in disgust or horror this time, he seemed to push himself closer, his cheek molding to Thorin’s hand, pressing his lips harder against Thorin’s.

Thorin let himself shift closer, his gut still coiled tightly in nervousness, and placed his other hand in Thranduil’s lap, near the belt of his robe, toying with the end of the belt unconsciously as he lost himself to the taste of Thranduil’s lips.

They broke apart breathlessly, eyes bright and staring at each other for a second before Thranduil dipped his head, taking Thorin’s face in his hands and kissing him again, harder this time, more sloppily.

Instinct made Thorin’s hands go to Thranduil’s waist, clutching at the fabric and skin there so tightly that he barely registered when the frail fabric of the robe gave a little under his fingers, splitting from his grip, letting the warmth of Thranduil’s skin bleed through, absorbing into Thorin’s fingers, sending shocks up his spine to his brain.

Thranduil pulled away, his pupils dilated, cheeks flushed bright pink and Thorin couldn’t help but smile at the expression on his face.

“What?” He asked, somewhat self-consciously. Thorin let out a laugh. “You are the most vibrant being I have ever come across!” he said, tilting his head slightly. Thranduil pushed himself back, towards the headboard, reclining against it and stretching his legs out, robes splaying out across the bed. He blinked slowly before watching as Thorin joined him, wiggling his feet near Thranduil’s knees with a smirk.

“Such a short one, you are.” Thranduil commented, closely watching Thorin’s face. It clouded for a moment and he lunged at the Elf, easily pinning his slim legs in pace with his knees either side, pinning his arms next to his head. “Say it again.” Thorin growled. Thranduil was about to speak but he was stopped as all the air rushed from his lungs. Thorin’s lips were scraping over his neck, beard scratching the sensitive skin, eyes pinned to his face as he looked down in wonderment.

“What -” Thranduil began, but gasped, his eyes widening at the sensation of Thorin’s tongue, warm, wet, teasing, massaging his skin, lips pressing down hard on a single spot, teeth working, rolling his already bruised flesh between his teeth gently. “Oh my-” His cheeks flushed as he turned his head for better access, hands clutching the furs. After a moment, Thorin raised himself, lips wet, a cocky grin on his face. “Like that, do you?” His voice was rough around the edges, deep and tinged with desire, the smile carried in his voice and made Thranduil huff, the edges of his mouth curling in embarrassment. “Well then…” Thorin’s hands worked quickly, skillfully undoing the robes and pushing them aside, cocking his head as Thranduil watched him silently. “How about this?” He ducked his head and Thranduil’s hips bucked slightly at the contact, Thorin’s hands trailed fire across his stomach, lips and tongue moved from one nipple to the next, each time bringing new sparks of delicious electricity shooting through Thranduil’s body. He found his hands curling through Thorin’s thick mane of hair and he pulled on it experimentally as Thorin’s tongue dipped lower, over the ridge of his pelvic bone.

“Lower,” He murmured as his hips rose automatically into Thorin’s trailing tongue. Thorin raised his head slightly, a smug smile curving his lips. “Alright.” He said, shifting himself down further, pressing his hand against the tent in his undergarments and chuckling briefly as Thranduil inhaled sharply. He slowly rolled his palm, watching Thranduil’s reactions bemusedly, using his other hand to fumble with the ties, using his fingers to scrape the fabric down past his thighs. He licked his lips as the Elf’s cock came into view, slender and pale, much like the rest of him, it looked so different that Thorin felt a wave of bashfulness overtake him.

Thranduil was watching him, eyes hooded, lips parted in a breathless sigh as Thorin traced his fingers along his shaft, feeling each ridge cautiously. When he brushed the leaking tip with his thumb Thranduil leant his head back with a moan, hands pulling Thorin’s head down impatiently and as Thorin’s lips slipped past the head of his cock, his hips rolled up unconsciously, lost in the new sensation of a Dwarf’s lips around his manhood, of that tongue, so rough and curious, tracing along his outline, lips dragging against each ridge, the hand that worked at the base of his cock, so impatient to do well. Thranduil let his lips curl into a smile as he moaned, cheeks flushed and hands stroking across Thorin’s neck, sweeping the hair aside.

“So good,” He breathed out, whining involuntarily as Thorin suddenly pulled away, the removal of the silken heat of his mouth leaving a loss that tugged at Thranduil’s loins. He tried tugging Thorin back down but he didn’t budge, gesturing to his own bulging trousers with a raised eyebrow. Thranduil felt his cheeks flush hotter with embarrassment, sitting himself up and slowly stripping the furs from the Dwarf’s body, feeling his breath quicken with each item of clothing removed. He traced his fingers through Thorin’ chest hair slowly, eyebrows furrowed slightly at the feeling of the coarse hair that smattered his chest. He brushed his fingers over Thorin’s nipples, smiling impishly at him when they hardened, let his fingers drop to the waist of his drawstrings, pulling them apart clumsily, letting out a gasp at the sight. He was enormous! Thick, full and a slightly darker shade than his usual skin tone, he was cut, the veins already throbbing in time with the twitch of his cock as Thranduil reverently lifted it to his lips, pausing before taking him in, to look up at Thorin. He was watching Thranduil with a clouded expression, full of desire and comfort.

Thranduil let the head slip past his lips slowly, memorising the taste instantly, woody and with a musk he could not place, he cautiously moved his head forward, feeling the ridges and veins with his cheeks, gagging slightly when the tip hit the back of his throat, spooking slightly and pulling away quickly, teeth accidently grazing along Thorin’s shaft. At that Thorin’s hips bucked forward, his hand tangling in Thranduil’s hair with a harsh sigh. “Again?” He murmured. it was not a command, but a question, and Thranduil, feeling his heart swell, did as he asked, grazing his teeth along Throin’s shaft as he began to slowly bob his head, he watched as Thorin’s breathing grew faster each time he did so. Growing bolder, he began to experiment, using his tongue to massage the shaft, brushing along the underside of the tip, using his hand as Thorin did, twisting it in time with his bobbing, feeling a gleeful ache in his body as Thorin began to moan at his techniques, hands pulling him deeper against his cock and with each bob Thorin thrust forward, causing Thranduil to gag more often, the spittle gathering around his lips as he watched Thorin’s chest heave, sweat gathering as a light sheen on his skin and as he could feel him peak, he pulled away as suddenly as Thorin had done to him. The questioning moan Thorin gave him made him smile wryly.

“Not yet,” he whispered, shifting himself backwards, resting his back against the headboard again. Thorin raised his eyebrow, tilting his head. Thranduil gave him a small smile, and beckoned him with a single finger. “Come here,” He said softly. Thorin pulled himself up, between Thranduil’s legs, and they kissed again, softly, tenderly and as Thorin leaned himself closer, the head of his cock brushed against Thranduil’s perineum, making him gasp into Thorin’s mouth, eyes shooting open, staring at Thorin as their mouths worked, the jolt of pure pleasure made him angle his hips so that Thorin’s cock would be nestled against it. He managed to succeed, eyes fluttering shut with whimpers as pleasure overwhelmed him. Thorin felt the shift in Thranduil and ground his hips down, feeling a rush of heady lust as Thranduil angled his hips up to meet him.

With a groan, Thranduil pulled away, covering his eyes with his arms, breathing hard.

“Vala,” He laughed throatily, pushing his hips up and rolling them, making Thorin groan, wrapping a hand around each of his slim ankles, easing his legs back and freeing a hand once he’d realised that Thranduil wanted this as much as he did.

He held Thranduil's gaze as he began to tease Thranduil's entrance, slicking it up with his own precum, gasping as Thranduil, with an almost feral look, pushed his hips up, forcing the tip of Thorin’s cock inside. Thorin shuddered at the tight warmth, the way Thranduil was writhing beneath him, seeming unfazed by his girth as he eased himself further down on Thorin’s cock, his face a beautiful tamarillo red.

And as Thorin felt a slight bundle brush against his cock, Thranduil cried out, body spasming, and Thorin memorised that spot, memorised every twitch of his abdomen, every pure unadulterated moan that left his pretty lips, and in that single moment Thorin knew undoubtedly that he did love the Elf, and with that cemented in his mind, he began to take charge, moving painfully slowly against the Elf, murmuring sweet nothings as he leaned down and pressed their temples together, inhaling the sweet scent of his hair, wiping his forehead as the sweat gathered between them and with each thrust of his hips, Thranduil would meet him, hips rising, wordlessly pressing his body to Thorin’s, grapsing at his back, holding his stare with glazed eyes, flinging his head away as Thorin would brush against his prostate, again and again, each time bringing waves of ecstasy for them both as the pace quickened.

“Thranduil, I... I love you!” Thorin gasped breathlessly, leaning down to lick a line along the column of his neck, tasting the skin, involuntarily biting down as he peaked with a muffled moan. Thranduil’s arms tightened around him and through Thorin’s few final come-down thrusts, climaxed violently, with a drawn out cry, his seed spattering across their stomachs.

“I love you too,” Thranduil finally replied, a worn, joyful smile on his face before collapsing against the pillows, asleep instantly.

Thorin had more energy though, and once he’d disentangled himself, he pumped some warm water into a large porcelain bowl, using a small rag of fur to sponge the now drying spunk off his torso, as well as crawling next to the Elf and cleaning his body too, gently and carefully, tracing along his ribs thoughtfully, wondering what would happen now that their love had been cemented.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished this. I wasn't too happy with how this turned out, mainly because I'm entirely comfortable with writing abuse and rape. But it's a commission, right? So. Yes. I hope this turned out a good read for you all anyway!  
> Thank you for reading.

At least two months had passed since their first coming together, and they were happily, lustfully, completely in love. It was such a dramatic change that Aragorn became worried. Perhaps it was all a charade intended to keep him clueless as to what their true feelings were? Perhaps they were plotting war with each other hidden behind friendly smiles, and even more so friendly attitudes. Although, he noticed, that Thranduil’s attitude shifted immediately if Thorin was talking to another party, whether it was sorting through weapons to sharpen and chatting to the blacksmith, or having a celebration with a hundred other dignitaries. He seemed to turn towards anger and jealousy, throwing the Dwarf ugly glares and demanding his attention at the most unseemly of times.

“Ah,Thorin!” Thorin’s smile thinly veiled the uneasiness he felt as yet another human clasped his shoulders with a grin and bow. “Merry meet, good sir.” He mumbled, bowing and backing away. “I must meet my nephews.” And he was gone before the human had a chance to reply. “Formalities and fake smiles,” He muttered angrily, slipping out of the side door and unfastening the restrictive clasps of his Dwarven mantle. Social gatherings always unnerved him, especially formal ones. He knew that it was a King’s duty, but that didn’t stop him from feeling so inexplicably tormented throughout the exchanges. He’d always supposed it was the triviality of the atmosphere.

Now, the typical farmers feast was something he was more inclined towards, and he looked about the corridor cautiously, slipping into the nearest branching hallway, using the shadows to veil him, edging towards the various sounds of celebration from below him. Lively jig music was echoing faintly through the halls, not loud enough to reach the ears of the dignitaries above but just loud enough. Thorin grinned at the sound of laughter.

He weaved his way around to the courtyard where a group of men and women were gathered around a fire, instruments playing and a large jug of mead being passed around. It reached him and when the Humans caught sight of him they all paused, silence filling the surrounding space and leaving the Dwarf feeling more than awkward. He began to sing self-consciously, taking a vacant seat, his voice clear and carrying. The villager’s wariness began to fade from their faces and soon enough, as Thorin reached the crescendo in his song the mead was passed around again and the men strummed their instruments, all with large cheerful smiles and much laughter. Thorin began to fit it, fade into the comfort and ease of belonging, and took the mead jug, almost draining it completely, to the cheers of the people around him.

He handed the jug to a fair woman with a round rosy face and turned to another lady next to him, still grinning crookedly, laying a hand on her shoulder and whispering conspiratorially in her ear. His best ideas always occurred, he knew, when he was inebriated. And he wanted to surprise Thranduil.

~~

Thranduil looked about him with vague disdain, the humans below the balcony were all royals and ambassadors, he knew. He also knew that he should be down amongst them but instead of letting himself be plagued with the insipid debates of whom was going to trade with whom next he was standing on a private balcony -- one that was only accessible by a drop of 50 feet, one that would invariably kill humans; to Elves a drop that small would barely hurt, but even with his senses finely tuned and his cautiousness on high alert, Thranduil had still scraped his hand on an errant unsmoothed rock jutting out from the looming stone walls -- surveying the scene below with mild disinterest. His interest piqued, however, when he noted that Thorin was not amongst the crowd below, eyes lighting upon the gaping absence with a thrill of quiet disbelief. It was rare that a King ever disregarded his duties so blatantly, and the thought that Thorin dared to sent a chill down Thranduil’s spine, his fingers grasping the cool tile of the railing tightly, knuckles turning white.

“I must find him,” He whispered to himself, eyebrows furrowing as he surveyed the room with a final sweeping glance before vaulting himself down amidst the humans, most of whom -- once he landed -- converged upon him with shocked expressions and meaningless concerned babbling. He shrugged them off, though, with a single piercing stare, making his way towards where he figured the Dwarf would be.

Moments later he was apprehended by an obviously agitated Aragorn, glaring at the Elf before speaking.

“I suppose you’re going to join the Dwarf.” He spat, scowling at Thranduil as though he was the cause of his frustration. Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Dwarf?” He asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Thorin,” Aragorn said bitterly, clutching the hilt of the decorative sword at his side. “Making merry with the commoners.”

A quietly pensive noise was the only sound Thranduil would let himself make as he stared Aragorn down, his eyebrow arching even higher before he swept past him, following the now soft  strains of music winding its way through the narrow passageways from the courtyard below.

Halfway down the convoluted tunnels in the rock, he paused at the balcony overlooking the large courtyard. It held a large marketplace, filled with drab stalls most selling one variation of the same carved stone, others selling bread and human sweets -- which Thranduil found nauseous at best -- and in the very centre of the market, a bonfire surrounded by humans, the cheery women all dressed in bright little dresses that showed everything, while the dour women sat at the edge of the crowd dressed in what could be mistaken for burlap sacks. The men all dressed in colourful clothing -- all cheerful, probably due to the heavy smell of mead wafting around them in a thick haze. A glimpse of deep garnet red caught Thranduil’s eye and he turned his head, seeing, with a feeling of sinking disbelief; Thorin, Aragorn was right, seated next to the fire, his lips pressed to a lady’s ear, a smile, so warm and intimate, usually reserved for Thranduil and Thranduil alone was curving them, the lady giggling at whatever blatantly sordid lies he was transplanting into her feeble mind. He spun on his heel, body feeling as hollow as a flute and ran.

~~~

“That _fool_ ,” Thranduil hissed, pacing around in his chambers, body hunched as a terrible pain bloomed in his stomach, it was as bad as when his wife died. He gasped, clutching his stomach, staring down at his lithe body as if it had betrayed him, using all of his willpower to stand straight, trembling in indignation. “He thinks he can say he loves me and then toy with me like a puppet?! _Well then…_ ” He growled, flinging open his vast wardrobe and pulling a emerald silk cloak out and wrapping it around his tall figure with a flourish. “He’ll learn not to be so fickle with emotions like mine!”

And moments later, where the air was still warm and the Elf’s chambers were still open, Thorin stumbled in, a large cup of mead in his hand and a bunch of well-endowed cheerful giggling ladies in tow.

“Thran- Thranduil?” He peered around the room as if waiting for him to appear out of thin air, his smile dropping as he noticed that his wardrobe was open and a cloak missing.

“Leave,” He told the girls immediately, their faces dropping as a scowl appeared on Thorin’s face. They left one by one, each throwing confused, saddened looks over their shoulders before turning their minds back to the party above, leaving Thorin to seat himself on the edge of Thranduil’s bed, fingers brushing the silk covers as he waited for his lover’s return.

~~~

There was a knock on the rickety rotten wooden door of Bard’s house. He opened the door and cocked his eyebrow at the imposing figure wrapped up in a fine emerald cloak. “Can I help you, good sir?” The figure threw back his hood and Bard felt his heart leap into his throat at the icy blue eyes that pierced his soul and the sharp features that noted all the finer points of nobility and elegance.

“Greetings, Bard. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” The tone of his voice had a smug knowingness that made Bard’s toes curl in his boots. “T-Thranduil…” He managed to choke out, standing aside as the Elf King swept inside, surveying the decor with hawk-like eyes.

“I see my favour of you has not advanced your status,” He spun on his heel, bending down and leaning in Bard’s face, eyes narrowed. “What have you been doing, Bargeman?” Bard was frozen in place, captured by the iridescent clear lake blue of the King’s eyes. Thranduil let his eyes drift up and down the human’s body, his lips curving into a sly smirk. “Or, rather, who will you be doing?”

Bard stood back at that, eyes wide. “No. I-I can’t, my children… No. Not again. We said…”

“We said nothing, Bard. You do remember, don’t you?” Thranduil’s fingers entwined themselves in Bard’s long hair, still as thick and ragged as Thranduil remembered, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. “We said we would discontinue our… Partnership. Unless one of us felt the need arise again. My favouring you was part of that deal. And now, I need you...”

Bard gasped as the Elf pressed his teeth into his neck, his will faltering as a cloud of heat settled over him. “Please, I-I know a place. Not here.”

“Why not?” The Elf’s voice was low murmur, his teeth grazing the shell of Bard’s ear, causing the younger man to tremble in his grasp, his eyelids drooping slightly.

“My… Children…” He was finding it hard to speak, the Elf had moved onto the soft easily marked skin of his neck, teasing, tantalising, burning him with his mouth. “P-Please… Can’t. Let them see...”

The Elf moved away, grasping his upper arm as though he thought Bard would run away. If only he knew that Bard could barely bring himself to place one foot in front of the other.

“Show me.” A raspy growl that made Bard’s knees weak. He knew that tone too well and it made his stomach flood with heat.

He pulled his brown wool cloak over himself, signalling that Thranduil should do the same with his before rushing out of the door, mind sick with images of the past, the heat of the summer bearing down on him as Thranduil used him. He was a mere toy to be played with when Thranduil had no choice, he knew. But that didn’t stop him from coming back when he was needed again. The feeling alone was more than enough to send him into a frenzy of lust.

He made his way through the winding waterways, edging towards his barge that he’d roped up in one of the city’s ports. He could feel Thranduil’s gaze on his back, propelling him forward, but he did not turn his face, didn’t give the Elf King the satisfaction of seeing his flushed face and blown pupils. That could wait.

He ducked as a trio of guards wandered past, kicking a baker’s basket of bread into the dirty water with jeers and nasty laughter.

“Why do you hide your head, Bard?” The amused tone in Thranduil’s voice made Bard’s jaw clench, bringing his fingers to his abdomen for a moment, feeling the elusive scar through the thick cotton tunic.

“I am not this great city’s _favourite_. The Mayor has it in his head that I am a troublemaker.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice, and the roiling in his gut only worsened when Thranduil spoke softly, his fingers entwined themselves through his.

“Of course he would think that of Lord Girion’s brood.”

“You!” He spun on his heels, pointing a finger in Thranduil’s face, face contorting into fury. “Never let that name leave your lips again, Elf.” He hissed, his semi-false fury draining as Thranduil’s eyebrow rose and an arch smirk painted his lips.

“Do not test my patience, Bard,” The Elf leaned down, everything except his eyes were shrouded, they glittered painfully bright, sly and still full of desire. “You may not like what you find.”

With that, the bargeman turned back, moving with much more purpose than before, his footsteps light on the wooden planking.

Thranduil watched him stalk away, hands clasping themselves together innocently in front of him as he followed, knowing where they were headed already. It had been the site of many a meeting between the two, in the wild summers where none could satiate his appetite enough.

Bard’s barge.

They cast off and Thranduil shrouded himself in mist and fog. The guard at the gate merely grinned at Bard and let him through.

“Going to fetch some more barrels from them Elves, Bard?” One of them called, tipping his dirty iron helmet back.

“Yes,” He replied shortly, his throat tightening. How ironic. “I should be back within the next three moons.”

The guard nodded him through, promising to keep the small loaf of bread Bard had given him.

“Well now,”

They’d sailed out into the deepest part of the mist clouding the lake, amidst the towering rocks and pillars of stone. Bard looped his rope around the nearest solid rock, tugging it tight so the boat wouldn’t float away on the currents or be too disturbed by their… Meeting.

Thranduil came up from behind, looping his arms around the other’s waist. The Human was warm but not as warm as Tho- No. He was not going to think of that person now. Bard needed his attention.

The Human turned in his arms, eyes narrowed.

“Why now? After so long?”

“Why not?” He murmured, pulling Bard’s face close and inspecting him. Bard seemed to let his guard down at that, only for a moment though as his startled gasp was muffled by Thranduil’s lips pressed against his. Slim, warm fingers trailed down the ridge of his jaw,holding Bard’s face firmly in place. The Human’s lips were soft against Thranduil’s, relenting and submissive. He parted his lips, and the heat of his mouth reminded Thranduil of Thorin, painfully he drew back, eyes narrowing.

He needed to forget.

He pulled Bard against him roughly, hands trailing across his slender shoulders, feeling the muscles bunching beneath his fingers.

“Thranduil,” Bard breathed out, entwining his fingers through the shimmering blonde hair, his palms gathering the silken strands as he pressed his fingers to his scalp. Warmth flooded through the Elf at that, heat dripping from his chest to his stomach, pooling there and threatening to overflow with each hushed gasp and groan that Bard sounded.

“Hush,” He said urgently, his fingertips pressing into his chiseled abdominal muscles. They were still as firm and as tantalising as he remembered. Bard’s skin was warm to the touch, almost burning against his fingers, the slight pain made his desire burn brighter. He pushed Bard against the mast of the boat, easing a moan out of his as he nipped at his neck, trailing his lips over his collarbone.

“God, _Thranduil_.” It was a needy whine.

“Yes, my little toy?”

Bard’s hand gripped his wrist, urging his hand to press against the rough fabric over his crotch. The clothes were too many layers too much and Thranduil, with a throaty noise, delved his hand into the bargeman’s pants, palm firmly pressing against heated soft flesh and rubbing circles.

It ripped a lewd groan from the Human, who arched his back into the Elf’s skilled, slender fingers working along his shaft, finding every sensitive spot with finesse, teasing him to fullness. Thranduil pinned him in place with his hips, tongue running along the tanned column of his neck, peppering his skin with bites and suckles, still using his hand to press against Bard, his own erection making itself known as it pressed against his thigh.

“Off,” Bard moaned, making his need shown as he shoved his pants down around his thighs. Thranduil turned him around, shoving him roughly against the wood of the mast, his finger twined through Bard’s hair and he pulled his head back.

From this angle he looked like Thorin.

His thoughts stuttered to a halt as Bard ground back against him, keening needfully.

“Fuck me, Thranduil!”

It wasn’t his voice Thranduil heard, it was a low timbre that made his heart swell in his chest, it was his lover.

“Yes,” He whispered, gripping Bard with one hand while hauling his robes up to his chest. He couldn’t wait, he _wouldn’t_ wait.

He pressed into Bard with barely a effort.

“Been keeping yourself stretched, hunh?” Thranduil grunted as he began to pull Bard’s hips against him, hands falling to grip his waist tightly, slender fingers leaving dark bruises on his heated, flushed flesh.

“Yes,” Bard gasped, head falling to the side, eyelids fluttering. “Yes, Thranduil. Only for you!”

He pushed his hips backwards as greedily as Thranduil let his hips fall forward. All Thranduil could see through the blur of desire in his eyes was Thorin’s face, mouth open and panting, eyes clenched shut in ecstasy, braids falling loose as his head thrashed back and forth with the movement of his hips.

He was bringing his love pleasure, he was pleasing him, he was the only one that could make Thorin feel like this.

Bard, was in the same frame of mind, legs weakening with each powerful, frantic thrust.

“Oh God, Thranduil, please more. I need more. Harder,” He panted. “Hard please, oh God in the Heavens. Oh _God! I’m going to-- Oh. GOD._ ”

He slumped forward, cheek pressing against the rough surface of the mast, hot strands of his cum spattering against the deck, saliva dripping from his mouth as his body went into convulsions, his eyes glazing over.

The tightening of Bard’s body beneath him, made Thranduil cry out, burying his face in his toy’s back as he came, his arms shaking around the Human’s body as he filled his insides. He raised his head slowly, a drop of sweat trickling down the side of his face as his eyes narrowed. Through the comedown haze, his vision of Thorin faded, leaving him with the stark image of Bard in his place.

“W-What?” He whispered to himself, pulling himself out and hurriedly tucking himself away. He flinched as he saw the sickly white liquid run down the inside of Bard’s thighs. Guilt crashed down on him in waves, sending him sinking to the floor, staring at the ravaged Bard with wide, unseeing eyes.

~~~

There was a deep silence that pervaded Thranduil’s bed chambers. He was sitting on his bed, head in hands. What had he done? He’d ruined himself, stained the pure love that he had for Thorin with the filth of Bard’s hands and his own infidelity. He sighed, tilting his head as he heard a gentle breeze. Then a footstep outside of his elaborately carved door. He scowled at the sound.

“Leave me be, servant! I need no company tonight!” Hearing no receding footsteps he rose, flinging open the door to reveal Thorin, his gaze hard and cold, head held high and body tense. “Thorin!” Thranduil exclaimed, not moving, his heart beating ten times too fast.

“I daren’t believe your audacity.” Thorin said darkly, using his surprising amount of strength to push Thranduil backwards, slamming the door shut and using the magic word to seal it. “ _You._ ” He pointed one stout finger at the helpless Elf. “ _You... AND HIM?_ ” It was a yell of pure fury and Thranduil felt his body shudder. He knew.

“How could you?!” Thorin advanced on him, eyes hateful. The Elf stumbled backwards, his eyes dropping to the tiled floor.

“I--”

“I gave you what I’d never given another,” Thorin hissed. “And you think you can take it from me whenever _you_ choose it?” He grabbed Thranduil’s wrists, pulling him down to his face level. Thranduil met his gaze hesitantly, flinching when he saw that the same hard gaze was still there. There was no forgiveness in those eyes and he let his head hang, his hair veiling his face as he trembled.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Thorin’s voice was a rasped husk of his usually sorrowful baritone.

Thranduil raised his head, eyes pleading. He could feel the tension in the air, he could sense the impending change in Thorin’s body, from pure anger to an animalistic sadistic drive that would send him into a frenzy. His body responded in a way he’d never experienced, making him more than useless, arms heavy and limp, facial expression all but begging for him to be used, body aching for his lover.

It would work. They would be whole again.

“Please forgive me,” He whispered, his hands shaking as he brushed a finger over Thorin's cheek. The Dwarf looked away, disgust on his face.

“How dare you touch me?” He spat, stepping away and looking him up and down. “How _dare_ you touch me with those filthy hands? HOW DARE YOU?!” He advanced on him again, slapping his hands away and poking a finger against his chest. “How dare you stand there, so pathetic in your _pride_? How dare you turn to another? Do I not satisfy you? Did I not make you mine?!”

He was pushing at him again, pushing him to the bed, forcing Thranduil backwards with a shove, sending him tumbling back against the sheets, face drained of it’s unearthly glow, eyes shining. He was changing. So soon. His hands gripped the sheets instinctively, his body trembling. Thorin leapt onto the bed, standing over him with boots on. He drew a coarse leather rope from his belt, gripping the Elf’s wrists and tying them together, then to the headboard, ripping another length to tie his feet together.

“You are mine, you hear me? _Mine_.” He growled, swiping his hair from his face. He was sweating, beads gathering along his temples, his clothes felt stifling, choking, he hurriedly tugged at his clothes, ripping the seams in his haste to be rid of them. Thorin’s clothes lay littered across Thranduil’s legs, the furs pricking at his delicate skin. He felt tears well in his eyes at the sight of Thorin, a dagger gleaming dangerously as he flipped it around in his hands, eyeing the Elf.

“You are mine.” He repeated lowly, leaning down to press the tip of the dagger to his chest. At first the pain barely registered, Thranduil’s mind going blank -- in terror, or need, he did not know. All he could feel was the ropes on his wrist, the anger and possession radiating from Thorin in waves, his own fear, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. It made it all the more intoxicating.

The point dug into his skin, the first waves of pain bringing him to the surface. He stared glassily at Thorin, watching as he pressed harder, only enough to tear his clothing and break the surface of his paper thin skin.

“You are mine.” He murmured, dragging the knife down, across his sternum, over his solar plexus to his abdominals, so that Thranduil’s robes fell away from the sharpened blade, a light trail of blood following the shining metal. The rosy beads shone brightly against his pale skin, his chest heaving from the pain.

“Please,” He lowered his gaze, hands clutching at his bonds. “Let me free,”

The only reply was a nasty laugh. Thorin stepped onto his ribs, heavy steel plated boots weighing down on his bones like lead weights, flushing the breath out of him with ease.  Thranduil gasped for air, fingers clawing uselessly at the ropes, his body convulsing. “Please!” He cried out, clenching his eyes shut, biting his lip lest he cry. Thorin cut his legs free, flipping him over. Thranduil’s gasp was muted by the pain as his wrists cracked, tears dripped onto the pillow. His face pressed into it, relishing the dark choking relief. He dimly felt Thorin’s hands grip his thighs, part them, heat on his back.

“Are you mine?”

Thranduil couldn’t reply, his throat constricting to the point of being unable to breathe, his vocal chords failing him when he desperately wanted to cry out. A whistling noise, a snap, and the pain burst into being a second later, fire blooming on his back. A riding crop, he had a riding crop. Thranduil buried his face deeper into the pillow, letting the burn on his back engulf his mind. There was a kind of relief in the pain. His guilty conscience relieved in the sting and bite of the leather against his skin. Blood rushed in his ears, his face flushed with tears and blood blooming to the surface of his nearly translucent skin.

“Are. You. Mine?” It was a growl.

He kept silent. There was something about that burn that urged him to. Whispered dark thoughts he tried to ignore fluttered through his mind. _Yes_. His mind replied. _Make me yours_.

Another crack echoed through the room as Thorin whipped him again. “Answer me!”

A choked grunt left his mouth, absorbed by the pillow as the pain worsened.

“Answer me, you fucking _whore_!”

The shock hit Thranduil’s mind like an icy wave, chilling the burn and freezing his veins. _No… Not that. Not that…_ Yet another snap of the leather crop against his fragile skin, he felt it split from the force, blood easing it’s way out of the wound, cooling against the walls of the chasm. He was gone, mind reeling from the sensations, the everlasting burn of pain lingered, the chill of shock rendered him paralysed. He dimly felt his mind retreat into himself, his tears flowing freely now, his mouth open, drool gathering on the cusp of the corner of his mouth and pooling on the pillow beneath him.

He watched, detached from himself as he babbled, begged and pleaded, his body writhing and straining against the ropes binding his wrists. He was needy, whining, completely undone. Thranduil watched, outside of himself, as Thorin spat venomous hateful words at him, calling him the most inventively terrible names he’d ever heard. But his body was responding, letting his pride be dragged into the dirt. It gave him a kind of thrill. Thorin pushed himself into Thranduil with no preparation, whispering filthy diseased words in his ear.

_… A whore doesn’t need to be stretched…_

_… You’re tight, god, you’re so tight…_

_… You’re mine, this won’t be something you’ll ever forget…_

And his reply? Babbling, incoherent sentences strung together on syllables, rushed, pathetic apologies, screams of anguish, moans of total desire and his body pushing back against the man who was using him, _abusing_ him.

He felt he deserved it.

He felt Thorin’s need, the need to be fulfilled, the need for acceptance, to know that he wasn’t just a toy to Thranduil. And Thranduil cried out his reproach in silence. He was something more than just a toy. He was everything. He needed to know that he was sorry, sorry for what he did, sorry for how much he’d hurt Thorin… He… Needed… To… Know…

With a flicker of his conscious he was back in his body, feeling the rough shoves against his ass, the pain paired with it, the marks on his back, burning more brightly with Thorin’s clawing, the insufferable wetness on his face, the fluids he leaked weren’t just from his head, though. He felt the throb in his groin, wondered, in the chaos of his mind why he felt so aroused by it all. The crop traced his jaw line and he shuddered, the final flood of sensations being too much and sighed as he released onto the sheets beneath him, blackness flooding his mind as soon as his arching body hit the bed, torso covered in his own fluid. He was drowning, going under, and Thorin couldn’t save him. He reached for something to hold onto as the blackness swarmed over him, but found no relief.

Thorin finished himself as fiercely as he started, pulling out and pawing at himself, it almost hurt to tug on the swollen organ, desperate mewls left him, his body going taut with a hissed curse as white strands spattered across his lovers back.

He slumped backwards, body shaking. He gazed at the mess he’d made of Thranduil’s back. Cum mingled with blood, deep gashes gazed at him, evidence from the whip. He gently rested his hand on Thranduil’s thigh, tentative, eyes narrowing.

“Thranduil?” He asked gruffly, cocking his head to the side before standing, sweat drenched him, and he shook himself out of the after-effects, grabbing a wet cloth and pressing it against Thranduil’s back as panic slowly spiked in his mind. He was unmoving, his torso rising and falling too slowly as he breathed. He carefully wiped his back off, gripping a bag of antiseptic herbs he’d filched from Aragorn’s personal store. They also worked as an aphrodisiac… He pressed the herbs into the wounds, cutting his ties lose hurriedly and tearing a length of fur from his over coat, using it as a cover to hold the herbs in place.

“Thranduil?!” He fretted, turning the Elf over and wrapping the furs tightly over his torso. “Thranduil, speak to me!” He cried, breath catching in his throat at the sight of the Elf’s slack face. His hand trembled as he stroked his cheek. “Please,” He begged, not unlike his lover minutes before. “Please, no. No!” He held Thranduil’s face in his hands, pressed his forehead to the other’s. His skin was chilled, too cold. “Don’t die on me!” Thorin breathed, eyes filling with tears. “Don’t leave me. I’m sorry,” A childish sniffle escaped him. “I’m sorry Thranduil! I was so angry! I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry, my love. Please! Please. Please…” He trailed off, clenching his eyes shut, jaw working.


	3. Chapter 3

Thranduil felt his mind waken, his eyes flickering open to see Thorin; head bowed over his chest, tears falling from his cheeks, dripping onto a damp space of sheet where so many other tears had fallen. “Please,” The Dwarf murmured, his eyes were surrounded by dark circles, the iris crowded in with bloodshot veins, his cheeks a bruised red - the signs of many hours of grief and sorrow.

“Th-” It was a croak, Thranduil’s throat ached. The Dwarf’s gaze snapped up, hollow, grief filled eyes met his just as he’d suspected, only brightening after a moment of silence as the Dwarf registered what had occurred.

“Thranduil!” The bone crushing hug that Thorin delivered brought awareness flooding into his body and he gasped at the pain. _There was so… much… pain…_

“Thorin! Stand down!” An unfamiliar voice snapped at the Dwarf. His arms loosened from Thranduil’s neck moments later. Unwilling to let go completely, he settled for resting his palms against Thranduil’s chest, a watery smile on his face.

“Wha-” His throat wouldn’t let him continue, his face twisting into a grimace as the pain spiked in his throat. He began to push himself up, his arms feeling weak as they tried to support his frame.

“Please, sire. Do not stress yourself!” The unfamiliar voice continued. There was movement, a shadow on the edge of Thranduil’s vision. He realised, only when the figure pulled the curtain back, that he was not in his chambers. The room itself felt strange to him, unwelcoming. He turned to the figure, now revealed to be a Human. His eyes narrowed.

“Who…” He was cut off yet again by the Human.

“Please, good sir! Refrain from speech.” He looked almost fearful, his eyes wide and hands held up in supplication. A mop of ringletted ginger hair sat atop his head, a single curl twisting itself into a forelock centred on his forehead. Freckles dusted the youth’s complexion, for now Thranduil could see that he was barely a boy. Perhaps twenty at the very most.

He did as the boy asked, firmly closing his mouth, looking between Thorin and the Man with eyebrows furrowed.

“This is Arda,” Thorin whispered, his knuckles growing white as he clutched at the bedsheets covering Thranduil’s chest, a desperate worried smile flickering across his face before his head bowed again. “He helped you recover.”

Thranduil’s eyebrows only knit further. _Recover from what?_ He wondered, only to be distracted as the Man bustled over, holding a damp rag to his forehead, patting the moisture-soaked cloth over his face.

“Do you remember?” He asked soothingly, pausing to roll the tightly tucked in sheets back so that the Elf was free to move his upper half.

“Remember what?”

At the broken gasp Thorin gave, the panic started, his hands clutching tight on Thorin’s arms. “What happened?” The urgency and the hollow feeling in his chest made his ears ring, his head throbbing in pain.

“Please, Thranduil. Calm yourself.” The Man took Thorin aside, murmuring something indistinguishable before returning to his side, smoothing out the rumpled bed sheets with a professional air. “We will need to take time with you, my lord. Your mental state is very fragile, and after what occurred I am hesitant to make you relive the details. As you remembered your partner, the memory loss is not as bad as we had first foretold.”

“Memory loss?” Thranduil felt his voice fail, his hands automatically going to the sheets and gripping them tightly. “I can not remember?” He loathed how utterly helpless he sounded, letting his head fall back against the pillows, eyes blurring over with unshed tears.

“No, but we need to edge you towards remembering.” At the venomous look the Man shot Thorin, Thranduil felt his gut roil. Was it something Thorin had done? “Why not simply tell me now?”

Arda’s gaze turned back to the Elf, solemn and sympathetic. “It is a very painful event that you have blocked out, your Highness. To simply plunge you back into that, it may turn you for the worse.”

Thranduil digested this news silently, fingers kneading the sheets as a way to divulge his agitated state. “Very well.” A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, and he slumped back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. “I think-” He began, berating himself for the way his voice wavered, cut off by Arda.

“Yes, your Highness.” He swiftly pulled Thorin away from his lover’s side, demanding he not disturb the Elf’s rest before giving him a hateful glare once he had opened the door and forcibly shoved Thorin from the room.

“Just how well do you think Thranduil will take your… your ‘mistake’?” He spat quietly, his knuckles white as he clutched the door, leaning in the gap -- barring the Dwarf entrance. “He will not forgive you. Not until this land takes it’s final breath.” His voice carried a smug revulsion, a threat with the power to destroy and he _knew_ exactly how it would happen. Thorin stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

When he spoke, his voice cracked but his jaw had hardened, a steely glint to his eye -- an echo of his old self. “I will do all I can to be indebted to Thranduil as long as my bones do not give way. Do not think I see your tricks, Man. I will not stand for your insolence much longer.”

He smiled, a grim farce of an expression of happiness, and turned, braided hair falling from it’s loose knot. “I will be watching you, Arda.” He spoke over his shoulder, eyes glaring at the youth as he stalked away, the furs draping his shoulders dragging across the stone tiled floors.

~~~

It was a moon cycle later that Thranduil remembered what had transpired between him and his lover. He had been making his way from his chambers to the dining hall, his expression one of worried familiarity. He could barely remember the past week, let alone the directions to the dining area. He was pleased to find, though, that Arda had stopped following him there, and once he’d found it by himself, he felt such a sense of relief that he contemplated lowering himself to the ground there and then, and kissing the ground beneath his feet. That was when the fog cleared from his mind, freeing it with such a weight that he almost bounced on his toes. The memory of that night came upon him like a tidal wave, the memories splitting his head in half. He fell to the ground in the dining hall, crying uncontrollably, only to be helped up hurriedly by Thorin, who had kept his distance since Thranduil had woken, had only observed his lover till he was sure he would remember, half wishing he would, half wishing he would not. Thranduil looked up into Thorin’s face, his expression pained, distant, lost in the memory of his misgivings, and what had occurred because of it.

“ _Iston i nîf lîn_!” He gripped Thorin’s arms, unmoving even as the Dwarf tried to haul him upright. “Please! Forgive me!” He cried, uncaring of the stares he was eliciting from passersby. Thorin knelt beside him, careful not to disturb him. “You need no forgiving, Thranduil.” He murmured, reaching up and brushing his hair away from his wet face. “I was the one who was wrong. I… I abused you… I am not fit to be your partner.”

“No,” Thranduil shook his head, rubbing at his eyes, ignoring the fresh tears and reaching for Thorin again, pulling him into a hug. “I caused this,” He whispered, eyes wide and unstaring as he bowed his head. “It’s no one’s fault but my own.”

“It is both our faults, do not take the blame solely on your shoulders.” Thorin’s voice was resolute, and he stood, holding a hand out to help Thranduil up, walking him to his chambers when the Elf stood on shaking legs, keeping his trembling hands hidden from view.

Once there, Thranduil seated himself on the edge of his bed, holding a shaking hand to his forehead. “I need a moment to think,” He murmured, his laboured breath catching on his words. Thorin hovered in the doorway, tracing the patterns in the woodwork, intently studying the wall before taking a breath. “Thranduil, would you deign to listen, for but a moment…”

 

He let a small smile cross his face when Thranduil lowered his hand, gazing at him. “... Yes.”

 

Where to begin? He had so much to say, so much to give and he was desperately trying to think through the right words. He started slowly, voice hushed and hesitant, almost reverent.

 

“This feels... wrong. I am letting it _be_ wrong. Now, however, I know just what to do. Tire of me if you will, my dear. I will not tire of you.” He made his way to Thranduil’s side as he spoke. “This is the world as I see it now, and it appears that nothing is fair. You can leave me if you wish, my love, but I will not go anywhere. Do not lay the blame at your own two feet, Elf King. We are both at fault, but you are the whites in my eyes, please do not break my heart, I think it’s had enough to last the rest of my life. You don’t have to make any promises, love, I’m afraid I might die for you now. I’d kill just to watch as you’re sleeping, I hope that you’ll let me in time. You don’t have to call me yours, my love, but by the Gods above I’m calling you mine...”

 

“Will you forgive me?”

~~~

“NAE!”

It was too late, by the time he’d turned the damage had been done. Thorin fell to his knees, an Orc arrow sunk deep into his shoulder, teeth bared in pain. An arrow meant for Thranduil’s heart as he had crouched in anticipation of the swing that did not come. He whirled around, striking the enemy down before stooping with surprising quickness, scooping Thorin up in his arms.

“ _Naugrim_ , do not leave me,” He whispered, staring down at a face that was an ugly grimace of pain, Thorin’s eyes flickering wildly beneath his closed lids. His face was drained of colour, teeth chattering till they stilled, he looked to pale to be alive, and the thought that Thorin had died was more than Thranduil’s mind could bear. He shut down, swaying where he stood, staring down at Thorin’s small body in his arms. There was a small bubble of quiet surrounding them, the calm eye of the storm before reality hit like a jarring blow from a sledgehammer to the head. Thorin’s chest was still moving, stuttering and each rasping breath gurgling in his throat. But he was still alive!

“TAURIEL,” He screamed, clutching Thorin to his chest as he, yet again, felt the sting of tears in his eyes. There was still hope!

“Mi’lord?” She appeared beside him, falling silent when she saw Thorin’s body in her King’s arms, studying the Dwarf with a practised eye. “Give him to me, your Highness. I will ensure he is restored to full health.” She spoke calmly, noting the way Thranduil clutched the King closer to his chest, a fearful expression making her draw back, hands held out like she was keeping a wild animal at bay. “I will _ensure_ his well being is cared for.” She repeated carefully, reaching forward to slip Thorin from Thranduil’s arms. “ _Dina_ , sire.” She quieted his protests as he began to fretfully keen at the absence of his lover in his arms. Tauriel bowed briefly before sprinting away across the battlefield to the healer’s circles, leaving her King to gaze after them. “ _Noro_!” He cried mournfully, long after Tauriel had disappeared over the horizon.

All too suddenly, like a spike of adrenaline was driven into his spine, he was filled with unbridled rage. Rage that his lover was hurt saving him. Rage that he wasn’t more aware. Rage at those who dared hurt Thorin. He strode in the opposite direction, his sword swinging viciously through enemy’s necks and stabbing through bodies with snarls that ripped from his throat like animal sounds, his face twisted with fury and vengeance. With each kill, his grim determination turned into a deranged kind of bloodlust, a smile growing as his face smeared with blood and his sword dripped with the guts and tendons of his enemies.

“ _Gurth_!” He hissed as each Orc fell before him, his sword grew ever more bloody and even as his breathing grew ragged and strained in his ears, his heart pumping wildly and his fingers growing numb, his robe soaked in the blood of his enemies, he would not stop. “ _Dôl gîn lost_!”

It was only when he felt a calm hand on his shoulder that he paused, a warning that he did not heed as he spun, sword poised to cut, slash and hack. It was stopped in it’s arc and Tauriel’s jaw grew tight, the blade cutting into the flesh of her hand, but she did not respond, her gaze strong against his crazed expression. “ _Odulen an edraith angin_.” She murmured, flinging the sword away as Thranduil’s grip loosened in shock, his body shaking as he slumped.

“ _Nîdh_!” He gasped out, falling against her.

“I know, your Highness." She took his weight without complaint, accompanying him to the nearest healer circle, forcing him to rest as Elves bustled around him, worried noises their only note of his depraved state. Tauriel stood guard at the outer edge of the circle, watching the goings-on with tired eyes. Her stance suggested that her being there was only to prevent Thranduil from returning to battle, with a foolhardy determination that was a terrible sight to behold, but he remained amongst the Elvish healers, staring blankly up into the darkening sky.

 

It was best decided that he return to Gondor to recover his mental health, and though he fought the decision with all his might, eventually he conceded and was returned to Gondor under the watchful eye of his healers.

~~~

It was six weeks past his injury that Thranduil heard word from Thorin, and what he heard had his heart convulsing in his chest, his face deathly pale. Thorin had returned to Erebor, to retrieve something dear to his own heart but it only made Thranduil sick with worry, causing endless nights filled with pacing to and fro on his balcony, teeth gnawing at the delicate skin of his lip where it would grow fresh with blood, till the taste of starlight filled his mouth, forcing him to spit it out. It tasted bitter and dry without love in his life, and he desperately tried to find something to fill his worrisome days, and for the most part failed.

His days became dreary, filled with blank stares, even as he was escorted to his favourite places around Gondor. The healers that had been sent back with him watched him with fearful eyes, keeping such close quarters that the Elf had many an urge at nights to leap from his balcony and flee into the night, but he did not. The only thing that kept him from fleeing the ever suffocating company of the healers was the thought that he would in eventuality see Thorin again, and he desperately hoped, day and night that nothing of ill fortune would befall the Dwarf King.  
So, when Thorin returned to Gondor with a bandaged shoulder, a weary smile gracing his features, a weighty stone in his pocket. Thranduil flew at the Dwarf once they were alone and clutching at him tightly, bunching his robe in his fists and pressing his face against his hair, taking shuddering breaths.

“I missed you too, azyungal.” Thorin murmured indistinctly into the Elf’s robes, feeling Thranduil’s hands grip his shoulders tightly, bending down so they were face-level.

Thorin drew back, hands going to the stone in the pockets of his furs, a slight smile playing across his lips. “Thranduil,” He began, drawing the Arkenstone from his furs and presenting it to the Elf. “Azyungal, the best thing to ever happen upon my sorry life.” His voice caught for a moment, and he could only smile. “Would you be mine till my bones turn to dust and are mixed with the Earth I was born from? Will you be with me?” He let out a choked laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Will you marry me?”

Thranduil regarded him solemnly, thoughts whirling through his head. He couldn’t move the words past the sudden lump in his throat, but he knelt down, taking Thorin’s hands in his own and bowing his head, touching his forehead to their entwined hands.

“Ai…” He managed to gasp out, almost like he’d been struck but it was soft, floating on the air between them like a feather on the wind, falling to the tiles and dying there in a burst of silence.

He remained like so for the longest time, unmoving and unable to speak, the words rising in his throat and dying on his tongue and Thorin waited. As resilient as the stone he was raised under, he waited. No pressure or urgency came from him, and eventually Thranduil spoke;

“Yes, meleth nin.” His voice was filled with unbridled happiness, so much he felt as though he was choking on it. He smiled, eyes filled with the tears from the stars that his Dwarf had once seen, had once comforted him over, and he pressed his lips to Thorin’s hands, moving a moment later to pepper his face with kisses. “Yes, of course!” He breathed, chuckling as he did so.

Thorin pulled himself out of the Elf’s grip, presenting the Arkenstone to his lover once again. “Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves. Will you marry me?” He spoke solemnly, but his eyes glinted with an unrestrained happiness.

“Yes,” Thranduil replied, before being surprised as Thorin placed the Arkenstone in his palm, clasping their hands together.

“By the blood of our love and under the Arkenstone, we are one.” Thorin intoned, still gazing at the Elf lovingly before drawing him in for a tentative kiss, lips barely touching. The heat still bloomed between them, though, just as it had done when they had first kissed.

~~~

The wedding was extravagant, but private, only a select few - such as Aragorn, Kili and Fili - were allowed to pass through the hallowed gates of Gondor’s only church, the bows arching high, pointing to the sky in massive uniformity, decorated with bushels of flowers, curving and twining around the two mirrored arches, aided by Elf magic.

“Aragorn!” Thorin stood by the altar, candles surrounding the sacred plinth. His hair was braided back in two thick plaits, the rest hanging around his shoulders, sleek and smooth against his cheeks, thick green ribbons plaited through his hair. His beard, too, had braids, smaller still but just as luxurious, tied with a green ribbon. His usual furs were replaced with a thick finely furred mantle, his leggings replaced with a ceremonial robe, cloth boots cast aside in favour of white leather slips that encased the stout joint of his ankle and wound over his calves.

Aragorn bowed to him, an easy smile on his worn face, his crown glittering along with his eyes. “You look well, Thorin.” He said, striding forward and clasping his forearm with a brother-like familiarity that was only matched by Thorin’s wide smile.

“This shall be one of the happiest days of my life, Aragorn.” He replied, stepping back and regarding the King of Men. “Of course I am well.”

“Where is your groom?” Aragorn glanced around, his eyes taking in the unique blend of both Dwarf and Elven culture. It seemed astounding, that these two races would mix, and seal their bond in a Human church of all places.

“He is dressing for the ceremonies,” Thorin replied solemnly, raising a hand to brush at the braids. “Before I dressed, he came to me and braided my hair,” His tone was wistful, full of love. The tone made Aragorn’s heart twinge. If only he could have that with the one he loved… “His hands were the gentlest I had ever felt, he seemed to pull the knots apart with the utmost ease. And when he was done, I braided his. Inlaid his hair with the bluest of ribbons, sealed his oath to me with a pearl of Erebor. I was scared, Aragorn, that I had too rough a hand to lay my fingers to his head. But he bade me consent, said much more had hurt him in his life.”

Thorin laughed, and it sounded echoingly sad. Like he was experiencing the ghost pains of his lover’s life. “I have seen what has hurt him,” His expression darkened for a moment. “I have hurt him.” Aragorn merely nodded in silence. He had heard of the misfortunes that had struck at both lover’s hearts that night. “But he still wishes to marry me! The thought astonishes me, Aragorn. It truly does. But I have learnt, through my darling’s benevolence, that all can be forgiven with time. With true heart, all can be mended.”

His urgent speech slowed in it’s flow as he looked past Aragorn, eyes brightening with impossible tears at the sight that lay before him. Aragorn, too, looked to his back, and moved aside, eyes dropping to his feet at the splendour that was almost blinding. Thranduil had entered the church grounds, standing in the entrance with a robe so white it was like the angels from heaven themselves had cloaked him in their feathered wings. His skin glowed with the radiance of a fresh lily petal, seemingly unblemished and dusted with an unearthly glow that made Thorin’s voice freeze in his throat.

“You are a lucky man,” Kili’s awe-filled voice sounded over Thorin’s shoulder and Thorin kicked back, barely missing the merry mischief-maker.

“You have Fili,” He hissed in return, eyes drawn back to Thranduil’s form as he descended the steps, a brilliant smile gracing his cheeks. As Thranduil drew up next to him, he gave a watery chuckle.

“You are the most stunning creature I have ever laid eyes on,” Thorin breathed, his eyes scrunching with happiness at the corners, even as his pupils glistened. He looked on the brink of joyful tears, his hands grasping Thranduil’s with shaking urgency and pulling him closer, reaching up to lay a tight hug around his waist. Thranduil did not speak a word, but bent down, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead before drawing away again, taking his place at the altar where Aragorn was standing in his rightful place.

Only a king could crown weddings, and it was, in Aragorn’s mind, something mind-blowing that he was christening and blessing his first wedding -- among the kings of two other races. He was alternately honoured, and aware of the influence this would have on their kingdoms. It would not only unify the two warring species together till either Thranduil or Thorin would take their absence from the world, but it would bring either ultimate peace or outrage to the entirety of Middle Earth. He was happy, though, for the two kings had found love - though marred and flawed, it was love and he could not help but feel elated for the two as he took their hands in his own.

Legolas, Fili, Kili and the rest of their close kith and kin settled into their seats, waiting for the ceremonies to begin.

Dwarven tradition dictated that the rituals last three days, and Elven culture deemed a fortnight of celebrations. So, for the three days immediately following the human blessing, Thranduil would visit the great halls of Erebor, feast with the Dwarves and be hailed as an honourary dwarf. Then they would travel to Greenwood the Great - Thranduil’s dwelling, and for the rest of their time alternate between the two kingdoms as they each saw fit.

And so, Aragorn began, his voice ringing proudly through the church’s vaulted ceiling as he marked a day that would forever be present in curious mind’s that listened to the legends of long ago.

The rings were fashioned from wrought silver and gold, a delicate silver band for Thranduil, with a shard of the Arkenstone embedded in the seamless metal, and a thicker gold ring for Thorin, a chip of the bark of the heart of Thranduil’s tree throne. The rings were tied together with ribbons of green and blue, with the green ribbon threaded around Thorin’s ring, and the bright blue threaded around Thranduil’s. The ends were tied together, and they were only to be separated once their celebrations were over, on the first night of the spring equinox.

That night, the celebrations, though there were few people, were riotous, the kin they had at the ceremonies were all avid revellers, and Thorin and Thranduil themselves were the spark in the crowd’s eyes as the music reached its highest volume and the Dwarves were dancing on the tables, heavy boots thundering away at the large oak structures, while the Elves melodic flute music lent an unearthly, blood boiling quality to the jig music, the Elves themselves, swayed gracefully to themselves, twining around each other and capturing the attention of many enamoured Dwarves and Humans alike.

Thranduil had put his mug of ale down, a quiet smile on his lips as he surveyed the goings-on, Thorin distracting him momentarily as he whispered some small observation in his ear. He reached back for his cup, and drank, not registering the unusual feel of the knobbles and whorls that were not his own cup, the drink making his head spin. Dwarven ale, Elven wine and Human rum flowed freely from the taps, and each had their own distinctive quality. The Dwarf drink was heavy on the tongue, weighing down on the head like a steel boot, but leaving a pleasant numbness. Elven wine filled the veins with bubbles, bright eyes and a quick lively, if clumsy, step were the marks of this brew. The Human drink itself was unlike either, and yet took on the qualities of both. Thranduil had partaken of all three, much to Thorin’s delight, who’d stuck to his ale.

So it was no surprise that Thranduil was of such a light-headed disposition that he did not register the difference, his taste buds numbed almost to completeness, so he downed the cup in full, laughing lightly as Thorin gripped his hand and bade him dance.

They danced the night away, a mixture of Dwarf and Elven dancing coming together with a brilliant oddness that made most of the occupants of the room stop at one point or another and stare in appreciative silence as they whirled by, a wave of awed murmurs following in their wake as they spun around the room. The pace quickened, and the music reached it’s peak, their feet thundered together in a frenzy of high passions and love.

By the end of it all, around midnight, Thranduil had a giddy look on his face, Thorin’s face brightly flushed and eyes clouded with post-exhaustion enjoyment as they slowed to a halt, bowing to each other.

“Come,” He took Thranduil by the hand, a content smile on his face as he led the Elf away from the crowd of their families, stopping by the arch and leaning against the cool stone before pulling Thranduil down to his level and kissing the tip of his nose.

Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, but with an echoing cheer that rang through the hallways he was swept up by Legolas and Kili, Thorin being grabbed next by Fili who laughed at his uncle’s protests, and together they were tumbled down the halls and corridors, cheers and laughter sounding through the city. They were finally released from their kin’s grips once they were in front of a mahogany doorway that towered over even Thranduil. The door opened a crack and Aragorn peered out, face flushed with a twinkle in his eyes that showed his inebriated state.

“Ah! My friends!” He cheered, an expressive smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve arrived!”

Thranduil and Thorin mingled awkwardly, looking at Aragorn with suspicious eyes. He was not himself, for certain. He swung the door open, and the couple were pushed through with steely hands that barred their escape. Once they were safely through, Aragorn closed the door behind them, and leant on it, a smile so wide gracing his face that they both had the thought that his face would split in half.

“What is the purpose of this?” Thorin asked, glancing around the room. It was lit with a soft dull glow, the shine lessened so that the light shining off the objects softened the edges of the room, the walls were a faint white, laced with pink veins that ran through the stone. There was an enormous feather down filled bed, silken sheets gracing the bed’s frame. There were green and blue ribbons strung throughout the room, swaying in the slight draughts that wafted about the room. The bed posts were strung with the ribbons, too.

Thranduil stared in silence at Aragorn. “Well?” He prompted when Aragorn did not reply.

“Ah,” Aragorn shook his head, coming forward and gripping both of their shoulders. “You are aware of the ceremony, yes?”

Thranduil and Thorin glanced at each other, confusion wrinkling their drunken brows. Aragorn merely chuckled, standing back and pulling out two thin strands of ribbon, one blue and one green before twining them around their wrists, tying them together.

They merely stared at him, even more confused than before, looking to the ribbon for a moment before Thranduil let out an undignified yelp. Aragorn had gripped the belt of his robes, tugging him forward before untying it.

“What are you doing?!” Thorin yelled, trying to dodge between them so Aragorn would halt his assault.

“The ceremony! Do not fret, Thorin! I will take my leave once you both in a state of full undress!” He quipped, nudging Thorin out of the way and continuing to tug, none too gently at Thranduil’s clothes. Once he was fully nude, clutching his hands to himself and staring avidly at the floor, Thorin was next, letting Aragorn pulls his many layers off with a grudging scowl. In barely any time at all, they were both nude, wrists still tied together, with Aragorn laughing wholeheartedly at their embarrassment.

“Now go, enjoy yourselves,” He said, voice ringing with amusement. “Don’t take the tie off before you’re done!” He slipped out of the door, and as the clamorous sounds slowly died away from behind the door Thranduil and Thorin faced each other, both flushed with drink and sheer embarrasment, both covering themselves with a slight shame.

“Well…” Thorin gestured to the bed, slowly slipping his hands away from himself, a nervous smile on his face. Thranduil did the same, even more slowly, their mutual nervousness showing as they neared each other, eyes trailing heat over each other’s bodies.

“Yes.” Thranduil breathed.

 


End file.
